


As Black As the Night Can Get

by HalosandSeeds



Series: You and Me [1]
Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Anything can happen - Freeform, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marilyn's sober, Trent wants attention this time, Trent's drunk, but - Freeform, let's get EMOTIONAL
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 09:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11010963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalosandSeeds/pseuds/HalosandSeeds
Summary: The smell of tequila on his breath sent Marilyn’s senses on overdrive, and he breathed in heavily as his arms wrapped around Trent’s neck, reciprocating the boa constrictor-like embrace he was given. With a lick at the soft skin underneath Marilyn’s jaw, Trent pulled back with a grin and heavy-lidded eyes and asked in a slurred drone, “Wanna fuck?”OrTrent has a drinking problem, yet Marilyn and him are back together after making up. But what happens when Trent gets too drunk and memories resurface? Can everything be solved with alcohol and fucking? We leave that up to Marilyn.





	1. Find You

**Author's Note:**

> The title is lyrics taken from “I Look Forward to Joining You, Finally” from Nine Inch Nails’s album The Fragile (also my favorite NIN album).

Voices spoke all around him, mostly garbled up nonsense he could hardly make out, and music blared from the speakers near the lowered ceiling of the bar, one of those shitty Foreigner one hit wonders. The lights were dimmed, but he could still notice the slight trembling in his hands as he observed them closely. His chest hurt, and his countenance remained solemn, emotionless, yet on the inside he felt like screaming. Call it social anxiety, discomfort, the need to curl up into one’s shell- whatever it was, Trent Reznor had only one cure: to get as hammered as possible.

 

To him there was consolation in the bottom of a tequila bottle. After ordering one shot and not receiving the expected effects yet, Trent eyed the bartender and tapped the counter, pushing his empty glass towards him, anticipating more. Draining the glass for a second, third, fourth, fifth, even sixth time, Trent felt a buzz, and the useless noise in the back of his head became even more so. Everything sounded fuzzy and off-center, and it felt as though his brain vibrated with every noise that hit his eardrums. Trent winced, raised his eyebrows, and gestured at the bartender for yet another shot.

 

“Don’t you think you’ve had one too many?” The deep, growling voice was uncanny; Trent automatically glanced up across the bar but then felt a tap on his shoulder beside him. Startled, he turned, and his heavy heart, as it was that night for various reasons, fluttered and began to pound as soon as he laid eyes on the towering, lanky, yet graceful-looking man moving to sit at a stool next to him. The heavy, gothic makeup was easy to recognize along with the familiar upturned smirk at the corners of his painted mouth. And those eyes. Trent blinked once, staring. It was all he could do. He hadn’t seen the fucking man for what seemed like ages.

 

“Brian…” he murmured once he finally found his voice.

 

The dark man grunted upon hearing the name and said, “You of all people should remember I go by Marilyn now.”

 

Marilyn. Trent tried to reach for his voice but ended up only mouthing the feminine name. Marilyn stared back, amused until Trent resumed his attention back to his now full shot glass. His eyes wandered as Trent emptied it in one fluid motion and then gazed at, hands shaking as he placed it back on the counter.

 

“What, so you’re not even going to say hi?” Marilyn continued to stare, his gaze gradually hardening at Trent’s small, soft figure. Damn. If he was diminished in stature and build before, Trent was even more so now than Marilyn had ever seen him. His once long hair was now chopped shorter and granted, it was fine, Marilyn even thought it was cute (though he kept that last bit to himself), however it accentuated his thin pale face in a way that made him look pallid, vulnerable, fading.

 

Marilyn found his countenance softening as he observed his features. The way his hands shook made Marilyn long to reach out and clasp them in his own. Goddamit, he mis- did he really miss him? It had been a long while since they last spoke… or when they last fought. Marilyn swore he would never crawl back to him since then and yet here he was, longing to touch him.

 

“Hi.” Without even bothering to look in his direction, Trent raised a hand sloppily in a careless, drunken greeting and kept his face down. Then Marilyn immediately remembered why he used to get pissed at him in the first place. The man was a walking storm cloud.

 

Marilyn blinked and chuckled dryly. “You’re drunk.”

 

“Bingo.” Trent turned with a flip of his hair and pierced those glazing green eyes towards him. A lopsided grin formed to his face, almost sardonic, causing Marilyn’s own smile to fall from his demeanor as quickly and easily as it had appeared. For a minute that felt like an agonizing hour, both stared at one another, unfaltering, saying nothing. The familiar awkward silence between the two of them came at last. Trent blinked once. Marilyn fidgeted in his seat, swirling the drink in his glass with his finger.

 

“Do you have… _anything_ to say to me… _Brian_?” Marilyn glanced up upon hearing this, noticing how slurred Trent’s speech was, how he stumbled over each word with the stamina and perseverance of a learning five year old. Suddenly, Trent stood up, staggered, and then clumsily regained his footing so that he loomed over Marilyn. “Of course, I’m fucking drunk!” Trent continued. The man below him swallowed but remained emotionless nonetheless. Trent decided to go on, his voice raising slightly. “Oh, and I’m sure you of all people should know why,” he snorted, edging sarcasm with each word and succeeding in making Marilyn cringe.

 

Hastily, Marilyn stood up from his seat and gripped Trent’s arm, almost to keep him from falling over, which he was about to do and almost reprimanding him. “Fucking…” he swore and then stopped himself, moving so that he could hiss in his ear. “Trent. You’re wasted. Just give in and I’ll take you home. Okay?”

 

After a while, Trent stopped squirming and struggling against Marilyn’s grasp and nodded curtly in defeat. Once he felt the hold on him loosen, he roughly shrugged him off and stumbled outside, muttering curses and unintelligible things in his wake. With a sigh, Marilyn followed after him.

 

“This way, dumbass,” he muttered, grabbing his wrist and pulling him away from the road. Hailing a cab, he shoved Trent in head first despite another string of four letter words being hurled at him. “Address?” Trent merely huffed out an answer and then remained silent for most of the drive, ushering in another deafening silence.

 

The long way back to Trent’s place gave Marilyn enough time to think the thoughts and ask himself questions that he was too nervous to ask Trent upfront. _It seems you and I both haven’t changed. When are we gonna grow up? I guess I haven’t because I’m waiting for you to take the lead, like you always do. But you’ve gone silent, distant, and it’s fucking killing me. Truth be told I was looking for you. Why? I don’t know… Do you want to know why I left? I don’t even know anymore…_

 

_I miss you._


	2. Taste You

Marilyn wasn’t prepared to follow Trent inside, but Trent had insisted and the former thought it wise not to argue with one who was already not in the right state of mind at the moment. The foyer was dark when they entered, and for once Marilyn felt comfortable by it. All the thoughts that entered his mind in the cab began to dissipate, and he instead focused his attention on Trent’s slumped form, fumbling against the walls.

 

“What are you doing?” Marilyn asked curiously.

 

“Looking for… lights…” Trent huffed out. He wasn’t as drunk as he had been earlier, but he was still gone as far as Marilyn knew. Damn, what a hangover that would be.

 

“I’ll get you some water,” Marilyn murmured and strode towards the entrance to the kitchen until hands and arms stopped him abruptly, wrapping around his middle possessively. Marilyn halted dead in his tracks and stiffened. “Trent?” Receiving only a mumble in response, he asked, “What are you doing?”

 

Trent only answered by shoving his face against his back and tightening his grip. They just stood there like that in the dark with Trent’s arms wrapped around Marilyn in a sloppy embrace. Silence pervaded once again until finally Trent decided to speak, his voice less slurred. “Are you going to say something?” he breathed in just barely a hushed whisper. “Anything? Why are you even here? I thought you hated me.”

 

Marilyn’s heart sank at his final remark, and the tension he had experienced after their last fight eventually settled over them both once again. Trent waited for an answer. Marilyn could not relax. Wetting his lips, he said, “I don’t hate you.”

 

Tugging at his leather jacket, Trent buried his face deeper so that his voice was muffled. Then he said with a hint of a rueful smile in his tone, “Liar.”

 

Marilyn grimaced and sighed. “Trent…”

 

“Stop.” Trent’s voice had become surprisingly firm despite being drunk. “Just stop.”

 

All of a sudden, the taller man managed to turn his body around while still remaining in the taut embrace of the man against him. He opened his mouth to speak, to state exactly what thoughts had roamed in his mind in the back of that cab, to tell him what he was feeling, to make him understand. No sound came out. Trent made sure of that when he reached up, both hands in his long, black hair now, and pressed his soft lips against Marilyn’s.

 

Everything stopped. Placed on pause. Marilyn himself was frozen in the arms of the man he swore he would never see again, mouth locked to his hungrily, longingly. For a moment in his shock and confusion, Marilyn closed his eyes in surrender and allowed it to happen, almost tasting Trent’s breath, drinking in the sighs that escaped his mouth and wandered into his own. Tentatively, his trembling hands reached up to touch Trent’s upper arms. When Trent pulled away and instead pressed his lips against the side of his neck, Marilyn sank his nails in automatically, uttering a groan at the unexpected and pleasant sensation. The smell of tequila on his breath sent Marilyn’s senses on overdrive, and he breathed in heavily as his arms wrapped around Trent’s neck, reciprocating the boa constrictor-like embrace he was given.

 

With a lick at the soft skin underneath Marilyn’s jaw, Trent pulled back with a grin and heavy-lidded eyes and asked in a slurred drone, “Wanna fuck?”

 

Marilyn blinked and stuttered. For once the god of fuck was speechless. “Are you serious?” was all he managed to get out.

 

Trent grinned. “Pretty damn serious.” Sliding his right hand from his waist, past his hipbone, and against the waistline of his pants, he coyly slipped his hand beneath the fabric and gripped what he found to his delight. “Mm… Someone’s getting pretty excited down there.”

 

Once Trent’s hand wrapped around his aroused member and squeezed, Marilyn gasped and dug his nails into his shoulders. God, he wanted it. It had been so long since they… when they… Marilyn shook his head, fighting against his fantasy, fighting somewhat weakly against the slender fingers that stroked and caressed his cock through his underwear. “No… Trent… Stop…”

 

Trent giggled and grinned mischievously, fluttering those hazy green eyes, glazed over in intoxication up into his own. “Relax,” he breathed. “I’ll do this for you. It’s why you came here, right? Come on.”

 

That’s when Marilyn snapped back to reality.

 

“Stop!” he practically yelled, startling Trent and yanking his hand from his pants jerkily. “Are you fucking nuts? Or do you need me to knock some sense into you because I will. You’re fucking drunk, and you don’t know what you’re saying. No I’m not going to fuck you because I will never, ever take advantage of you. Who the _fuck_ do you think I am? Fuck you!”

 

Trent simply stared wide-eyed and utterly still, expression frozen into that of shock and hurt. Marilyn stared back, chest heaving, nostrils flaring, face set; hell, he was practically prepared to fight. And it scared him especially when he saw Trent start to tremble, averting his gaze in embarrassment. Perhaps he wasn’t as drunk as he thought he was…

 

“Trent I…” Marilyn began apologetically. “I’m s-“

 

He was shoved out of the way before he could bother to finish and watched, taken aback as Trent half-ran, half-stumbled and tripped into the bathroom. Retching and choking noises met Marilyn’s ears, and he raced after him only to find him huddled by the toilet seat, heaving and rasping as he vomited.

 

Never mind.

 

Compassion fell over Marilyn as he sauntered over his shaking form and went down on his knees behind him, rubbing his back as he retched and smoothing the hair from his face as he continued to vomit. When he had finished, Marilyn wet a cool cloth and pressed it to Trent’s forehead and cheeks also making sure to wipe his mouth. He noticed Trent’s lower lip quivering, and he stopped to press a soft kiss against his forehead. The man was trembling uncontrollably.

 

“Let me put you to bed,” Marilyn murmured gently. Trent nodded in assent and held onto his arms for leverage in rising to his feet. Wrapping Trent’s arm around his neck and shoulders, Marilyn aided him in making his way to his bedroom and gently laid him on the bed. Trent gazed at him, bleary-eyed and then passed out without a word.

 

Marilyn watched him sleep for a long while and ran over the events that took place this night in his head. He couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around one thing in particular: whether or not he should stay the night.

 

_I’ve left you before._


End file.
